Free American Blood by Ben Sanders Page A

there.
    These were the hardest moments, though. Solitude felt most acute with no task at hand, no avoiding the fact that someone was gone. Work helped. Focused on a file, she was less prone to tearful lapses. She could disappear into others’ misery, and it helped to keep her functional. It helped to hide her own tragedy.
    She sipped coffee, tears making the kitchen blur.
    Don’t lose your grip.
    She wiped her eyes hurriedly, trying to keep the Lemar guy front and center. She imagined what she’d say to him, running questions and answers in her head, keep her mind off other things. She tipped the coffee in the sink and dialed the number Martinez had given her.
    He took a long time getting to the phone. She was thankful for the noise though, even just the ringtone.
    When he answered she said, “Mr. Lemar, my name’s Lauren Shore. I believe you spoke to my colleague Detective Martinez from the Albuquerque Police Department Narcotics Squad.”
    “I talked to a few people. I don’t know about a Martinez. You a police lady, are you?”
    She said, “I’m a colleague of Detective Martinez.”
    Voice shaking a little. Come on. You’ll be all right.
    He said, “Well, sure.”
    “Sir, I was hoping to come by and ask you a few questions about the incident you witnessed this morning, if that’s okay.”
    “Well, sure. I mean, I didn’t really witness anything. I just saw the start and the finish and made a good stab at what happened in the middle.”
    “I understand. That’s fine.” She read him back the address Martinez had given her.
    Lemar said, “That’s the one. You just come on round any time. We’ll have a drink or something.”
    The sooner the better. She didn’t want to face the quiet. She said, “I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”

 
    EIGHT
    Marshall
    Early afternoon. The car so hot he could barely touch the wheel. At the bottom of Garcia Street his phone rang again. Blocked number. He turned right and put the car against the curb. Above him across the junction the power lines strung like the tatters of some great web, and higher still the birds cloak-black and jagged in their circling. Northward the land so flat the houses across the street obscured all but the distant hills. As if idling phone-in-hand he sat at some frontier.
    He answered.
    “Good you finally picked up.” The tone digitized, androgynous. Deep and echoic on the line.
    Marshall said, “I only missed two calls. There’s not much finally about it.”
    “There’s a finally for everything. You included.”
    Marshall didn’t answer.
    “I hear you’re not an easy guy to deal with.”
    “I’m looking for someone.”
    “So I’m told. I think I got the message: give me some answers or I’ll come and fuck you up. Am I in the ballpark?”
    Marshall said, “More or less.”
    “Not a very safe thing to be telling people.”
    “Not a very safe thing to be refusing.”
    “Safe for me I think, my friend. I can give you some advice though: looking for disappeared people is a good way to end up disappeared yourself.”
    “So you know what happened.”
    “It doesn’t matter. What I can say is that sometimes people go missing, and then they meet their end.”
    Marshall didn’t answer. He shut off the motor.
    “I think you’ve delivered a kind of ultimatum, so I hope you can accept one back. Well. Not an ultimatum, but a statement of the reality you’ve introduced.”
    Marshall said, “Which is?”
    “Soon you’ll be dead. Maybe you’ve been around long enough to live your dreams, I don’t know. Any case, you’ll get to live your nightmares. If not yours, then someone’s. If briefly.”
    Marshall didn’t answer.
    “Are you a man of principle?”
    Marshall said, “Everyone is. Some people just can’t name it.”
    “Would you say you have something to lose?”
    “Not really.”
    “Not really. Okay. But bear this in mind, because it’s important: as soon as you hold someone dear, then you stand to lose something.